Beneath a Moonlit Sky
by OperaCellarRat
Summary: It's been so long since Erik got to relax and see the moon. Christine intends to fix that. (NOTHING to do with LND I just liked the name) Third attempt at getting back into proper writing.


_'How long has it been since you've seen the moon?'_

 _'I've gone out on occasion, but I've never had the ti-'_

 _'That settles it, then. We're going out.'_

 _'Christine-'_

 _'No buts.'_

Now that he was here, next to her, seated upon a snow sprinkled hill like a child, eyes wide, he wasn't sure why he had argued. He _knew_ why, his _face._ But she had fitted him with a scarf to work with his hat to allow aid in concealing his masked appearance. She had taken him out here, to this spot on such a night he'd never seen, stars speckled the black like far candles, and the _moon-_ the moon hung there, full and round and casting it's pale light upon his face without judgement. Not harsh, nor revealing or bright, but soft and understanding, like a gentle hand guiding him through the dark as much as he needed. Such a feeling of safety that he cherished in this moment.

It had been somewhat of a distance to get out here, but seeing him like this was worth it. The way his thin frame settled upon the grass, his legs crossed up and his frail fingers wrapped around his well polished shoes. And his _eyes,_ those eyes she had gazed into many a time to see all the _sadness in the world._ Yet, now, here they were, bright and mesmerized. So much like a child, a child he never allowed out under any circumstance, one he never got to be. Caged for so long, now having the chance to enjoy, to feel and experience. Of course, she could be assuming things, she knew this couldn't actually be his first full moon from all the traveling he's claimed to have done; but had he ever gotten to _sit and relax with it?_ That she wasn't sure of. She watched him in silence for a while, his peaceful and tranquil moment, basking in friendly moonlight. Eventually she did make her way to him, rather plopping herself down next to him in a similarly childish nature, slipping her shoes off and looking up to join where his gaze led hers. "It's beautiful." She says softly after a moment, looking at him after another pause.

 _"No,"_ he mummers, _"more than that. There is no word for it. There is no word for many things, that is why we have music."_ Christine understood, which was something he was always astonished by. She wasn't perfect at it, but she _tries and_ that's more than he can say for any other human being. Her hand went to his, which twitched nervously at her touch, but the curling of her fingers assured him to relax. "A new composition in mind, maestro?"

"Perhaps." Erik states, a hint of a smile on his thin lips, his heart hammering and senses buzzing as he feels her delicate fingers turn over his hand. He hasn't taken his eyes off the moon, but he's more than aware of here studying his hand. She brushed her soft digits against his cold, hard ones, bony and frail in appearance. _Yet powerful enough to crush airpipes with a single rope and perform such horrid deeds._ She doesn't think about that, though, not once. He does. A frown returns to his features, while she smiles peacefully and continues her study. _So thin,_ is what she's thinking to herself, eyes a bit sad. _Perhaps she'll get him something from the bakery._ Yes, that sounded like a fair plan.

"I look forward to hearing it." she hums, tracing the visible bones in his hand with interest. The veins, tendons, every aspect. They were so worn, yet so graceful, _gentle_ even, she was certain. _Despite what they're capable of._ A breath is released between the both of them.

"I shall see to it you hear every note." It was a decision, he made it immediately in his own mind, sitting up a little straighter.

The sun was always too bright to stare at, harmful, dangerous, it pushes those who decide find it beautiful away. Even though they can't even look at it. His yellow eyes studied the moon, it's welcoming dim light, it's visible _imperfections_. The craters which spotted it's skin, rough and coarse, beaten, but _survived_. _**Accepted**_. Christine had noticed him growing increasingly tense over the past few moments, her hands stopping their examination to wrap around his one larger appendage, warm and comforting. The contrast in the temperature of their skins was something they _both_ hid very well, the shock of the full-on touch. Cold as a corpse, warm as a gentle spring day. She says nothing, and he inwardly, silently thanks her for that, just holds his hand in hers. He could swear her warmth was spreading through his veins like her sunshine had seeped through his worn flesh, rushed in his blood and brightened his eyes. It was here a smile came to his features, soft and earnest, his long fingers curled around hers in return, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. Neither of them were sure just _what_ this was, but they were glad for it. She was glad that he got this moment of peace and fresh air, got to see the surface beauty he had been deprived of; he was glad she was here, that she had been her stubborn self and dragged him along with her to this isolated spot, upon this hill, so late into the night, _just to show him the_ _**moon**_. And they sat there, the sun and the moon, never looking at one another, but respecting each other's presence, understanding and accepting.


End file.
